We will not go in order of importance, we will follow the random patterns of my brain, as we have all become accustomed to.

I enjoy stomping in icy puddles and breaking icicles because it’s stuff you’re allowed to break. I break stuff on accident alawt. Being permitted to break things is refreshing and satisfying.

Bubba went back to hospital and they sent him to bigger, better hospital where they fixed him but he’ll have to mend.
One night, The Mister stayed with Bubba and I had to sleep alone with my cats and my dog, off n on for the first time in seven years.

On Wednesday, I put in a 12-hour day. I wore yellow. And canvas shoes. And I went out for lunch and got myself a grilled cheese sammich where the edges are all crunchy and the middle is all soft and gooey and I had that with a big fat soda and a yellow cookie and the sun was all shiny and warm and I smiled the whole outdoorness time. Subsequently, I got a lot done.

What I looked like by the end of Wednesday.

Same.

On Thursday, I wore brighter yellow, but the day paid it no mind and I have concluded, via rigorous testing, just sos ya know, wearing a particular color has no impact on the course of one’s anyday. I officially give up.

Mercury’s in retrograde and the time changed and obviously the moon has grabbed on to something icky to wax to fruition.

On the one hand, I be all RISE ABOVE and on the other hand, I be all WHITE FLAG! WHITE FLAG! Y’all know I like things that come in white.

And so it continues —

NEVER PUT ME IN A GROUP TEXT. I complained about this, loudly, unto my family unit, and then two days later my husband put me in a fucking group text because as I suspected, he never listens to me. I cannot work with my phone vibing all over my desk, my bag, the floor, the drawer beside my bag — I was like Phoebe with the smoke alarm.

What if that’s my boss? I can’t ignore it, for fuck’s sake. Imagine that.
“Thank you for holding, this is Jolene.”
“Why aren’t you answering my text?”
“I’ve been placed in a text chat with 67 other people and I had to turn my phone off or kill myself and I otherwise have a lot to live for, so I turned my phone off.”
Reasonable? No, I think not.
I was dangerously close to sending a group text to every fucking one of my contacts: I DESPISE GROUP TEXTS. Choke on the salty irony of my announcement.

Plans were hatched and then canceled. Womp-womp.

Oh! This week I received an email asking me to send cash in with my kid and not tell her why, for a Surprise. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?!? Clearly they do not have teenagers. Who the fuck gives money to a teenager higgledy-piggledy? (see that?)
This week, Sassy’s lunch account had run out and I had just paid Moo $9 and I told Moo to give Sassy money for lunch and Moo told me that when Sassy came to find her, she already had a one and made Moo give her $3 so I asked Sassy what the fuck she ate for $4 lunch and where she got that dollar she already had.Surprise! We take accounting seriously over here, y’all.

–> Insert sections of topics I can’t blog about, but which can be summed up with don’t hang your shit on me, verily, all actions have consequences, racism looks bad on everyone, speak your motherfucking truth, and bitches be trippin.

It wasn’t all bad.
There was some making out at the stove on stew night.
Sassy and I played word games.
One night there was gelato.
It got warm and windy how March days sometimes do.
And there was that sammich…

I spend a lot of my time this way. Wearing soft, warm pajamas and snuggling a quilt Papa did not make for me. Shh.

Is winter longer this year? I think winter’s longer this year.
The sun is out more. The other day, I left work around 5:30 and the sun was all shiny, and I thought hey, maybe we could get a door shot today but when I looked at the thermostat it read 9° and I thought hell no we won’t!

The stupid time-y change-y people are gonna make it dark in the morning again. Fuckfaces.

I’ve been busy working, taxiing teens, making snuggles, yawning, getting the sicks, running the errands. I am good at all those things.

Since I last blogged, Sassy got a sick, Bubba has been to hospital, and Moo and I have been to urgent care. The Mister is fortunate, which is a clear testament to chocolate’s antioxidant properties.

For months, I’d only gone to Facebook to play Scrabble. Sometimes I see my friends on my texting device, but I don’t have Facebook on my texting device. Well, I tell ya what, Facebook caught on to me, and it won’t let me play Scrabble until I’ve interacted a bit, which I feel is extremely manipulative, if clever. I do miss some people terrible and have considered hiding all but a dozen friends. I wonder if Facebook would allow that or if it would arrange for Scrabble to give me only vowels until I properly social media?
Scrabble, yes. Jesus as your bigotry excuse, no. Posting cat photos, yes. Showing me soup that looks like scat, no. I think that’s fair criteria.

I washed Blanche, which I don’t like doing. I blame all the unlimited wash people – WHADDATHEYGOTTAGOEVERYDAY?!? Of course, I got her all shined up so it snowed again *shakes head* That’s what makes people buy unlimited washes.

We got a new staff member. I like her. I liked the other one, too, but I didn’t enjoy doing so much of her work along with mine, so I like this one better.

At Christmas, Moo received a lip balm that she didn’t like and I did like it and now I am completely dependent on it and I asked the gift giver where the hell I’m to buy more of it and they are sold out. It was a limited time holiday thing and now it’s March and no one cares about my dependency. It cannot last forever. No lip balm ever lasts forever. Come November, you gonna see me at Ulta with a case of that shit.

There’s a weekend on the horizon and I feel like my lip balm will last the weekend.

Bad parent me did not sign up for the six-hour volunteer shifts at the thing. I’m galled at the six-hours-or-naught ask, and well, naught, motherfucker. If they want to motivate me, they should try praise, ice cream, or taking away my Scrabble.

(I may go over there. I may go to work. I may starfish in the center of our bed and watch Frozen Planet. I may fully embrace apathy. Who can tell? Okay, I never starfish, but I could. YOU GUYS, I don’t even need to go to the grocery store!)

On the Fort, (pay attention, The Fort!) there’s a restaurant. I think for years it was breakfast and brunch only, which is why I never went there, but now they seem to serve lunch and dinner, cause I follow them on Instagram and they post noms and write things like, “Join us for dinner!” Maybe they always served lunch. I don’t know their life.

I had to fangirl them, because Benson is a fan and they are a local business. The food always looks good.

A few weeks ago, The Mister called me at 10am on a Saturday and said, “Wanna eat?” and I did. I did wanna eat. I consented to putting on clothes because it was about 10 degrees, and then the worst part — as always, he asked, “Where ya wanna go?” If you have enjoyed being asked that question for the last twenty fucking years, we have nothing in common. I have a big imagination. I think of the best meals I’ve ever had and I realize he’s not going to drive me to Provincetown or Sanibel or whatever, and he hates driving downtown, and he hates parking in Broad Ripple…

I took the old pic after school, so maybe 4ish and they definitely weren’t open then.

New picture. Deceptively warm looking sun rays.

Erm, they sat us at the bar/counter thingy. Not far from the door. I did not like this. I asked the host if people would pay right next to us, as there was a POS there, and the host did lie at my face, saying, “No, people won’t be coming up here.” People did come there. All the time. Mostly him. Also it was cold. There was a space heater on 90 pointed at my legs the entire time and it was cold. I began to hate polite people who held the door open for others. Shame on them. Next time we go, I intend to demand booth seating on the east side of the building where I will not have to stop to make fake polite conversation ten times an hour and I will not ask my husband if I can hold his coffee mug to soothe my angry hands.

This was my view:

They had a coffee station and random mugs like anyone’s house. This complimented the other dishes, mismatched and happy. I dig the decor. And this guy on the right.

Behind me, this complicated drool-worthy double door feature.

I don’t know what she’s mad about, but it may have been someone opening the door, I’m just sayin.

Okay, so here’s the thing, for everyone, every one of us, our good traits are our bad traits. Our strengths and weaknesses are the same things. Compassionate? Taken advantage of. Stubborn? Can do. Free-spirited? Reckless. Dumb? Blissfully unaware. I’m tellin ya, they all go both ways.
One of mine is perceptive as fuck. Don’t act like you aren’t impressed by my spot-on memory of detail. I am always making connections. See also, crazy intuitive and paranoid — let’s all remember that just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
On the one hand, I am a fairly reliable narrator who recounts entertaining stories with detail and on the other hand, spending time with me will inevitably result in a pinpoint attack on your personage. Cause while I may bite my tongue or whisper it to my cat for years, eventually Imma say it or write it.

I can’t NOT see it. Unfortunately fortunately, I recognize and value truth.

(Let’s all take a moment to feel sorry for Sassy’s sensitive ass, living here with 3 of us.)

I see it all. I can’t not see it all. I’m not wearing rose-colored glasses, I try them on from time to time, because I am extremely critical and the world needs more positive energy. I can’t see it all and not see the bad shit. Don’t be absurd.
I can’t help it.
Even I do it to myself. I do it to myself THE MOST.

I worked the holiday. I think unless it’s a day people celebrate with greeting cards or feature foods, we work it. My family was at my house and I was not and it was sad.

We had an inundation of what is called ‘wintry mix’ or as I like to think of it, nature’s complimentary slushy (flavors not available.) If you’re unfamiliar with that, it falls like rain or like snow and either way, when it hits the ground, it forms a slush, which may freeze in a cohesive manner or scatter like sand, but it will not provide traction regardless. The moment compression occurs, feet or tires, its truth is revealed — Slick Stuff. School was delayed.

I don’t watch regular tv anymore. I mean, I could, if I wanted to. I can turn on the antenna and watch tv, but there are commercials on tv and they are awful. I was at the dentist again (it was fine again) and they had the regular tv on. First it was Ellen, whom I enjoy, but this group came on, and brace yourselves, it was a sorta country meets R&B vibe which almost made my ears bleed. Then Family Feud, and I do so enjoy Steve Harvey, but then it was all light saber sounds in my mouth and I couldn’t hear a damn thing UNTIL the commercials came on. I could hear those over the laser battle. Then the news came on, and there was a story about Indy’s potholes, no kiddin!
From work to the dentist, I saw potholes big enough to take a bath in. Leaving the dentist, I saw a sign in the right hand lane — someone had painted it and set it in the street <—- BIG POTHOLES and I had to drive into the left lane quick, like all the people in front of me, because there was no way to maneuver around them. This is a problem every winter, and this year is second to none.

Crossroads of America. Yay.

One morning, I woke up in the middle of the night — obvs, totes dark — but it was actually five and I couldn’t fall back asleep. It was terrible.

Mood.
Which sweater? Which jeans? Which boots? Quelle monotonie.

Twelve hours later I was attacked by a case of unemotional tearful yawning.

Office Manager is on vacation. I hope she returns before I run out of red ink and decaf.

I have been spared a sick that took Mentor out of the office. First she tried to hide it. She was holed-up in her office hackin her brains out. Immunocompromised me stood outside the door hollerin, “Why did you bring that here?!” Then she tried to be all badass about it, sayin things like, “Meh, I’ve felt worse,” and “I’ll see you tomorrow,” while the rims of her eyeballs had clearly been boiled red. She did NOT see me tomorrow. Or the next day.
Honestly, if you told me she had pneumonia, whooping cough, tuberculosis, and the croup, I’da said, “Yep, that sounds about right.” I had to go into her office and touch her mouse and keyboard and then I used all the hand sanitizer ever. Then I Clorox wiped her shit and washed my hands. My job is substantially harder without her, but it’s about ten times worse after I’ve been absent.

Today, Receptionist is buying me a Molly Melt. She said, “I’ll buy if you go get it,” and I said, “Absolutely!” She already paid me in advance, which made me chuckle, as if money has been exchanged and I have entered into a cheeseburger contract. I’m REALLY looking forward to that.

This weekend, Flotsam and Jetsam are coming and going with their tribe. I must perform my Old Mother Hubbard ritual. Maybe I’ll do other stuff. Maybe going out will invigorate me, you never can tell. If not, there are linens to launder and books to read on Sunday.

This place is an institution.
I used to eat at Gray Brothers with my grandparents. I used to eat there with my aunts. I used to eat there with The Motterns before I was one.

Obviously I have not eaten there since 1944.

See, how we came to eat at Gray Brothers is because we never eat at Gray Brothers. Two Sundays ago we drove down to Southern Indiana, well I drove down, cause I want always to drive in the daytime, even if there is a snowstorm, light is mo better, and my husband didn’t want us to eat there even though that’s where Aunt Marthanne brought her sugar cream pie…
After I snuck off to eat Swiss cheese, Papaw said The Mister ought to take us to Gray Brothers on the way home and I said, “HE NEVER TAKES ME TO GRAY BROTHERS! I ask him every time, and every time he says no! Twenty years! Not once in twenty years!”
This surprised Papaw and he shook his head.
I KNOW!
It’s a damn shame is what it is.
So when we drove home, well, The Mister drove home, because it was dark, I said to him, “Your dad said you ought to take me to Gray Brothers.”
“Did he now? My dad said that? To YOU?”
“He did. And I told him you never take me.”
“Hmph.”

We stopped at McDon’ts in Spencer, about which I will never complain, Coke Coke.

I asked The Mister, “Don’t you like Gray Brothers? Why you never wanna go?”
“Cause, Baby, I just wanna get home. We will make a special trip next weekend. I will take you then.”
Hurrah!

Now, Imma tell you how it works. You wait in a line. A long, long line. Even if you show up when it’s ‘slow’, y’ain’t walkin in to eat, you walkin in to wait.

You got about 200 feet to wait inside, but on Sunday after church, the line is outside and wraps round the building. We went at 2 on a Saturday and were about 60th.

It doesn’t change.

Okay, the menu changes daily, and you must Google if you wanna be in the know. It’s all good. It is ALL good.

In case you never Googled ‘Hoosier tenderloin’ now I can show you.

It’s bigger than the plate.

But don’t order too much, cause PIE.

The pie! Oh the pie! I declared their lemon meringue pie the best when I was maybe ten. I am unwavering.

LAWD.

Beef n’ noodles, green beans, sage stuffing, half a roll, half a pie, and four glasses of water later, I was bursting.
Between the stuffing and my half a roll, I sopped up every bit of that noodle goo.

Perhaps you need a close-up of the noodle goo.

Mmm, noodle goo. What could be better on a cold winter’s day?

And that’s Gray Brothers.

I didn’t eat the rest of the day… cept PIE. The other half of the best lemon meringue pie ever.

You should eat before you read me, hm? Next week, I may take you to brunch on The Fort. Unless I go someplace more interesting this weekend, which might also include food, because it’s winter in the Midwest and I just want comfort foods and quilts and books and tv and sleeeeep.

Who’s Brian?
Brian is the boyfriend/fiance/husband in line behind me at the grocery. Brian is never right. In fact, Brian is such a useless twat, I don’t know why Hat Lady even shares her time with him. Hat Lady is probably not her given name, but she wore a hat and I avoided eye contact.

“OH MY GOD, all these coupons are expired! Who has coupons that expire?”

fuckin everyone, hat lady

Brian mumbles about the rewards program and tries to explain how it works.

“We are NOT shopping here anymore!”

good, cause i shop here all the time

“Brian, I will not calm down. I’m not angry. I’m angry because this store doesn’t even have things we like! Why are we shopping here if they don’t even sell things we like?”

i see you like some things, as you have them in your cart, angry, not-angry

“Brian! They don’t have vegan things or anything gluten-free. Nothing I like is here!”

*scrutinizes cart*

is that winter wheat ale? bitch, you know that’s gluten, right? got wheat right on the label

i do believe those red peppers are both gluten-free and animal-free

“They don’t even have my yogurt!”

*also gets upset when her yogurt is sold out* one point for hat lady

“God, Brian, this was a total waste of our time. Now we still have to go to Whole Foods and they close in 25 minutes!”

Brian mumbles about how he can go out in the morning.

“I still won’t have my —” I swear she says something about keto gelatin superfood infused sprinkle creamer but I don’t know what she’s actually saying because I have no idea

“Buy ten get ten free? Who on earth would buy ten candy bars?”

i do. i buy them. and my kids get pissed when daddy doesn’t

Brian thinks it’s a good deal. Brian says, “Anyone who wants ten more for free.”

*yawn* Hey Morning People, I bet I was up before you! I was up at 4:10. Up being me asking The Mister, “Is it the middle of the night now?” while he put his pants on. He said somethin and I took my earplugs out and put on sweats and brushed my teeth and found two matching shoes that I put on over my matching socks. It was a successful event. No one made coffee because we’re pretty sure we haven’t finished digesting last night’s dinner.

*yawn* Moo has a thing. A travel-y thing. We wish her luck. We’ll pick her up in the middle of the next night. Is that tonight or tomorrow morning? Who can tell?

*yawn* The boy one is here, but I dunno what he’s doing after he sleeps his face. Sassy has a thing, too…

*yawn* Later today, when it’s actually a day, The Mister is taking me to a very special meal. Maybe they have doors, but they definitely have pie.

*yawn* Okay, I’ve been up more than a whole hour. That’s enough morning for me, thanks. Time to snuggle up and catch s’more zees. Zs? Zzzs? Whatever, I hate morning. Twice on a Saturday. *yawn*

It was a beautiful day. It was too cold, but it was beautiful. After a week of rain and snow and gray and snow white skies, it was nice to see the blue sky, even if it was too cold.

The Mister and I were alone and we had breakfast out, and went to the bookshop, and he got some new kicks, and he asked me if there was anywhere else I wanted to go, and I said, “Yes, actually. Just across Allisonville Road is Penzey’s Spices,” and he did drive me there. I ASKED him to.

Over breakfast, we had talked about how I have an aversion to thyme. I always forget this, because I don’t cook with it and it’s not something I encounter often. You know how I’m always like, “I’m a foodie, I eat all the foods?” Well, I don’t like thyme. I don’t mean l won’t consume a dash in a soup or a sauce, I mean anything with thyme in it would taste better without it. My mother made thyme chicken once, at least 25 years ago, and I have not forgotten. It was awful. I don’t wanna smell it, I don’t wanna taste it, I don’t want to think about it. Writing this makes me think about it and I kinda wanna hork. I can actually envision my mother that day. Happy to see me home, me walkin in all
“Oh God, what the hell happened? What is that smell?”
“Thyme chicken.”
“Gnarly.”
It did NOT taste good. No likey thyme. No no no.
Ick. Thyme. And I had thought, “Where could we go that my husband could smell the thyme and I would not have to?” The spice place.

Also, Marian is always goin on about Penzey’s and her instapot and I drive by the Penzey’s all the time. I had lovely ideas about sniffing lavender… maybe buy some groovy Marian kinda spice blend, kick my fish up a notch, fancy peppercorn. Dreams.

I am dumb. I walked in, acted like I don’t have the nose of a bloodhound, started sniffin and sniffin and about three jars in, I got into somethin with a lot of curry. ALAWT. I mean CURRRRREH. My sinuses aflame, my throat all choked. And then the sneezing. Guess what else was in the thing with all the curry? Pepper. So I pretty much sneezed my way to the ladies and blew and blew and blew. And thus, the sniffing ended. Too picy for Joeys.

I have a good nose. *SIGH*
But hey, I detect gas leaks, so it’s not for nothin.

Anyway, much like candle shops and perfumeries, I should be brief and shop with intent.

The Mister smelled thyme and he said, “That’s fuckin gross.” I love him so much.

The other day, I was behind a big black SUV at the stoplight, and I noticed the driver stuck an I Heart Guns bumper sticker on it and it made me wonder what do I Heart enough to advertise it on my vehicle?

Truth: I own ONE bumper sticker. It’s this:

I’ve had it more than twenty years, never actually put it on a car. That’s like six different stories and they’re more like drinkin-on-the-porch stories, not blog stories, so you’ll not read those here.

For a long time, I had an alumni bumper sticker on my car. I almost got an alumni license plate, but ultimately I chose the Marine Corps plate, because I believe it’s an advantageous sorta license plate, whereas the alumni plate might, at best, have people rolling down their windows and shouting “Chirp Chirp!” at me.

When you finish college, there’s this sorta overwhelming need to let everyone know you’re done with that now. The newness wears off and people ask terrible questions like, “When ya gonna go to grad school?”

But Hearting things.
Hmm.

I see this stuff all the time. You do too, I bet.
I Heart My Wife, My Husband, My Dog, My Cat, My Kid. well good, ya should. To me, if you’re puttin it out there on your car, you’re like, “This is what you need to know about me, Total Stranger In Traffic: I Heart Guns.”

I couldn’t do that one. I don’t Heart Guns. I’m ambivalent at best. Recoil very bang.

But what DO I Heart? And better, do I Heart anything so significantly interesting and unique that I want everyone to know this about me, like an ad for me, before I even step out of my car?

I don’t.

I Heart my blog. I Heart sleeping in. I Heart yellow. I Heart ice cream, quilts, baths, Coca-fucking-Cola. I Heart precipitation, no, wait, not hail. I Heart doors. I Heart Batman. I Heart cardigans. I Heart a lot of things. I do. I just don’t know at what level I would need to Heart something to advertise it.

Gun to my head, if I had to choose a Heart for Blanche, I’d probably choose I Heart My Solitude or I Heart Singing In My Car or I Heart Arriving Safely.
What do y’all Heart?